Living the Afterlife, a Death and Chronos flash fiction collection

by River Fairchild

to. Pity. She sings well too.”

  “I remember. Pure opera quality.”

  The party did sound like fun. Maybe he’d speak to Lucien after all. No harm in dating a succubus for just one evening, was there? At least she would keep Eros at bay.

  “I’ve got just the girl for you,” Lucien said the next morning when Chronos enquired. He snapped his fingers and a well-shaped demon appeared in a puff of smoke.

  “This is Lilith. Guaranteed to make you the envy of all men.”

  “I don’t want to be envied and they’re all named Lilith.”

  Lucien chomped on his cigar and smiled. “Minor technicality. She’s perfect for you. You’ll have to get her back here before midnight though.”

  “What happens at midnight?”

  Lucien studied him for a moment, a red glint in his eye. “You really don’t want to know.”

  Chronos shuddered. Did he really want to do this? Lucien saw the hesitation and slapped him on the shoulder.

  “You two will have fun…trust me.” He left in a swirl, a wide smile on his face.

  Chronos looked at his date and shrugged. At least she’d come clothed.

  The evening was pleasant enough. Eros found some other victim to harass and Lilith clung to his arm while batting her lashes at him. Helga livened up the evening by belting out a few of Death’s favorite funeral dirges while he popped candy hearts in the air to catch.

  Chronos glanced at the clock in surprise. It was 11:58. Stopping time didn’t work on demons. He rushed Lilith back to Lucien’s place just as the clock struck midnight and her hands turned into claws.

  “I had a wager going with some of the boys that you wouldn’t get Lilith back in time.” Lucien chuckled through the smoke of his cigar.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you.” Chronos smiled faintly, wondering just what his date would have done to him had he kept her out longer. Her scales were a beautiful ripple of color, though.

  “Oh, you didn’t disappoint me. I won the wager. I knew you’d be conscious enough of the time to get her back.”

  Chronos wasn’t about to admit how close he’d come to losing track, settling for a gracious exit instead. Perhaps next year Helga could hook him up with a friend.

  Surf’s Up

  Chronos flopped down on his sofa, grateful to be back home after the strain of holding time in neutral for twelve hours straight. Suddenly, Surfing USA assaulted his ears as Death plunked his bony frame down next to him, the earphones from his iPod reverberating the music much like a pinball machine would bounce a ball.

  “Would you please turn that down,” Chronos asked without opening his eyes. “Your bones don’t do much to contain the noise and I have a massive headache.”

  “Sorry. I heard about that black hole tearing through the space-time continuum. Pretty bad, huh?”

  “It’s fixed now, but I’m knackered.” Chronos heard a plink-plop, like pebbles striking glass. He opened his eyes in time to find Death tossing peanuts in the air and having them hit a pair of sunglasses that he wore over his eye sockets. The peanuts pinged around the room like small missiles.

  “Why are you wearing sunglasses?”

  “Oh, I forgot I had them on. I thought my game was a bit off.” Death removed them and caught the next volley. “Much better.”

  “You could catch them in your mouth like normal people do,” Chronos suggested.

  “No challenge in that.” Death unhinged his jaw so wide he looked like a cobra. “Mouth’s too big.”

  Blinking back tears at the glare in the room, Chronos finally noticed the source. Death wasn’t wearing his usual black robe and cowl.

  “What are you wearing? It’s searing my eyes.”

  “Isn’t it cool? Lachesis wove it for me. It’s called a tropical shirt. That’s why I came over. I want to go surfing and I thought you’d like to come with me. It’ll be fun.” He turned his Beach Boys music back up.

  Chronos waved his hands in surrender. “I’ll go if you promise me no more music.”

  Death slipped his sunglasses back on and smiled. “Let’s boogie, old man.”

  The sun and sand were pleasant, Chronos admitted to himself. He stripped off his sandals and relaxed, watching Death skim along the tops of the waves without benefit of a board.

  When he came back to shore a crowd of young people gathered around, wanting to know how he’d done that. While Death entertained them, Chronos noticed something amiss and went over to stand by his friend.

  “Hold still a minute. You have a loose thread here.” Chronos tugged and snapped it off. One of the young surfers dropped dead at his feet. “Oops… I forgot that Lachesis wove this. She must have used life threads to make it.”

  “Quick! Give me the thread.” Death knotted it back onto the shirt, but missed the original placement.

  “Whoa, that was unreal.” The young man got to his feet, a bit unsteady. He looked around at his companions. “Why am I hanging out here, wasting my time? My father wants me to become a doctor.”

  He turned and walked away without a backward glance, leaving the others puzzled. Death shrugged.

  “It wasn’t his original weave but, hey, he’s still walking. Maybe I should retire this shirt. Wouldn’t do to snag it and change someone else’s life – or start a war.” He looked down at the material. “I wonder how many lives I’m wearing right now?”

  He took off his sunglasses and linked arms with Chronos. “Did you get enough fun in the sun, my friend?”

  Chronos laughed. “Plenty. I think it’s time to go home. Play that surf song again though, will you?”

  Time Slips By

  Chronos threw up his hands in disgust. “I can’t find it anywhere.”

  Death surveyed the small mountain of printouts Chronos was crawling through on the floor, hoping the rumpled pieces were no longer important.

  “What are you looking for, old friend?”

  “1986.”

  “You lost a whole year?” Death eyed his friend with concern. Chronos turned and glared at him.

  “I know what you’re thinking, but it’s just a paper thing.”

  “Of course.” Death decided the kitchen might be a safer place to be at the moment and went rummaging through the cupboards for some peanuts. When he returned, the situation hadn’t improved any.

  “Why don’t you ask the Fates for a copy?”

  Chronos sighed. “I was saving that as a last resort.”

  “A stitch in time…” Death popped a peanut in the air.

  “Good morning Atropos. It’s nice to speak with you.” Chronos gave her a weak smile, sweat running down the back of his neck.

  “Don’t flatter me, Chronos. Every time you contact me on this infernal contraption, I know you’ve screwed up the timeline. What did you lose this time?” She tapped a giant pair of scissors on the vidscreen. He was glad he hadn’t sought her out in person.

  “I seem to have misplaced 1986 in my records and I was wondering if you could send me a copy?”

  She swung around without answering him and enlarged the tapestry in the background. The weaves and colors shifted backward at a dizzying rate, finally coming to rest on one section. Atropos punched a button, glared and then snipped her scissors in a menacing fashion before breaking the connection.

  “That went rather well, don’t you think?” Death walked back over to the desk, slapping Time on the shoulder.

  “How do you figure?” Chronos mopped his forehead with the sleeve of his robe, leaving a large wet spot.

  “Well, you’re still here, for one thing.”

  “Oh. When you put it that way, I guess so. All I have left to find now is June of 1972.”

  “It’s not on your 1972 report?”

  “No. Do you remember anything about that month?”

  Death rubbed his jawbone, finally shaking his skull. “Sorry, dude. Why don’t we just travel back and have a look?”

  “It’s not the best way—”

  “Would you rather call Atropo
s back?”

  Chronos leapt to his feet. “Are you ready to go?”

  The strobe lights made seeing a bit difficult. Death and Chronos stood at the back of a packed auditorium, squinting at the empty stage. The curtain rose to the tunes of School’s Out.

  “I’d forgotten how well you handled the sticks,” Chronos murmured.

  “Look at you, with that long hair and playing bass!” Death tapped his phalanges in time to the music.

  “I’m going to find out why we don’t remember any of this.”

  Chronos turned his hourglass and stopped time for the mortals before striding toward the stage. Their earlier selves quit playing, puzzled as to the interruption. Alice Cooper spun toward them instead of freezing in time. He grinned and shifted into his preferred shape, conjuring a cigar while he waited. Lucien.

  “Hello, boys. What brings you from the future?”

  “Why are you messing with our memories, Evil One? And, while we’re at it, why are you impersonating Alice Cooper?” Chronos was appalled that Lucien would bend the timeline like this.

  “I played drums for Alice Cooper? How cool is that, dude?” Death walked over to talk to himself, leaving Time to engage in a battle of wits with Lucien.

  “Look,” Lucien said. “Alice needed a rest and I said I’d cover for him for a few weeks. He didn’t want anybody to know.”

  “That does not include Immortals.” Chronos stood firm, mashing his finger into Lucien’s chest for emphasis. “You know you can’t do that. Give us our memories back.”

  “No need to get physical, Chronos.” He swirled his cigar three times counterclockwise.

  The memories flooded back; the lights, screaming fans, groupies… Chronos blushed. What a wild month